Sherlock's Healthcare Plan
by cactusnell
Summary: Sherlock seems concerned about his health, but more concerned about Molly helping him. Sherlolly


Sherlock Holmes, world's only consulting detective, and Dr. Molly Hooper, "his" pathologist, were both working at a long table in the morgue/path lab St. Bart's Hospital, he at his microscope, her on her laptop, when they were interrupted by the arrival of Dr. John Watson, provider of coffee and conversation.

"Coffee break time, mates," he said as he deposited a paper cup of excellent brew in front of each of his friends. "This stuff beats that mud made in the cafe, you know. Columbian."

"Just like the best cocaine," Sherlock muttered as he took a sip. John shot him a look that said, _Not good, you git!_ as Molly looked at him warily.

"Not that I would know. Anymore. Now. Haven't know for ages, actually…" Sherlock was going on nervously.

"Shut up, Sherlock!" Molly ended the discussion, then turned her attention to John. "Between rounds?"

"Finished, actually. But it's still a bit early to meet Mary for lunch, so I thought I'd pop in here. Busy?"

"I am," said Molly, "But I believe Sherlock is just bored. No one could possibly find toe fungus that interesting."

"I suppose it depends on what type of fungus, Molly." John teased, "Or whose toes?"

"Very funny, Dr. Watson. But these samples are scrapings from toenail fragments found in your old room at Baker Street. Tell me, have you considered writing a will?" Sherlock was not about to lose a snark contest with his former roommate.

The next half hour passed in more pleasant conversation among the good friends, ending when John had to take his leave to meet Mary at a restaurant near her office. Almost as soon as he had gone. Sherlock turned to the woman and asked, "Does it seem to you that John has gained weight since his marriage, Molly?"

"That's only to be expected, isn't it?"

"Perhaps. Perhaps not. I estimate that he has gained at least half a stone. And I was perusing the internet…"

"Bored again, Sherlock?"

"Yes, well, be that as it may, I found this website. WebMd, or some such. Do you know it?"

"Yes. It's designed for the layman, so I don't use it a lot. But it seems to be reliable. Why?"

"Well, there was an article about the health benefits of a regular sex life. According to this, sex is excellent exercise, burning up approximately five calories a minute. Watching telly, by comparison, only burns up one calorie per minute." Here, he paused to look her over, perhaps assessing her interest in Strictly Ballroom! "So, my question is, if he has access to an active sex life, why is he gaining weight at such a rate?"

"Sherlock, I imagine he eats a lot better than he did when he was rooming with you!" As she said this, Molly couldn't help moving her eyes over the detective's rather fit body, and hoping that he kept it that way by limiting his diet, rather than the alternative he had just suggested.

"Molly, is there something wrong? Your eyes look a bit glazed?"

The pathologist shook herself out of her reverie. "No! I'm fine. I just think that your premise that John has gained weight due to a lack of sex is…"

"I don't believe I actually said a lack of sex, Molly. If you remember, the rate of caloric burn was expressed as calories per minute of activity. Perhaps he should take more time…"

"Sherlock! I really don't think I need to hear a critique of John's sex life! You are not privy to…"

"Perhaps I should be. Do you think I should offer some advice?"

Molly blanched at the thought of Sherlock "The Virgin" Holmes offering sex advice to John "Three Continents" Watson. As if he could read her thoughts, which he probably could, the detective said. "You shouldn't believe everything you hear, Dr. Hooper."

Molly looked around the room. The long lab tables. The refrigerated drawers. The autopsy tables. And it was much colder than she would have thought. For hell, that is. But sitting here talking to Sherlock Holmes about his, or John's, sex life was, indeed, shaping up to be her own version of hell.

"Sherlock, if you want to take the risk of offering your best friend, a thrill-seeking ex-military man, advice about his sex life with a former assassin, be my guest. But please, leave me out of it!"

"Point taken, Molly. But, back to the article about which I was speaking. It seems that sex can also be efficacious on a number of other health fronts. Men who experience an average of twenty-one orgasms a month seem to have a lower incidence of prostate cancer."

Molly took a deep breath, and noticed that the room was, indeed, getting warmer. Hell was closing in. "If you are concerned about prostate cancer, Sherlock, perhaps you should see your doctor," she said evenly.

"As you know, Molly, John is my personal physician, and I will never be concerned enough to allow him to stick a finger up my bum, and tell me to turn my head and cough!"

Molly giggled at his reaction, at the same time thinking that it did, after all, put to rest some of the rumors circulating about the nature of his and John's relationship.

Sherlock ignored her giggles, and continued. "Everybody knows that sex is a reliable stress reliever, as it releases a chemical in the brain's reward center. But it also improves sleep. I, myself, sometimes have difficulty sleeping, as you know…"

"Not me! I sleep like a log," Molly said enthusiastically, as Sherlock looked like he didn't need to hear this.

"But a regular sex life can also be beneficial in more important ways, as you must already know, being a doctor."

"Not many of my 'patients' are concerned with their sex lives, Sherlock." Molly told him, and couldn't resist adding, "And most of them are 'stiff' all the time, mate!"

The detective rolled his eyes at her off-color pun, but slogged on through what was beginning to seem like a prepared speech. "It also lowers the risk of heart attack, regulates blood pressure, increases your libido…"

"Just like crisps, I suppose!"

"What!" Sherlock sounded baffled.

"You know. The more you eat, the more you want. Sort of the same, I suppose."

"Molly, I'm trying to be serious here. Keep up! A healthy sex life can also contribute to a healthy immune system, you know. And it can help a woman's bladder control, Molly. Did you know that?"

"Sherlock, I am not about to discuss bladder control issues that I may, or may not, have!"

"How about that pain you sometimes get in your legs or back? From standing all day doing autopsies. It can relieve pain like that. And menstrual cramps as well, Molly. Perhaps if you indulged on a more frequent basis you wouldn't be such hell to be around every twenty-eight days?"

"Perhaps if you indulged at all you wouldn't be such a pain in the ass all the time!"

"Precisely!"

"What?!"

"I suggest that you move in with me." Sherlock said calmly.

"Again, what!?"

"Well, in order to garner all these beneficial results, one must indulge in coitus on a regular basis. The article mentions that a man should have a least twenty-one orgasms per month to achieve the prostate cancer benefit, as I said. While no such precise figures are given for any of the other benefits, the word 'regular' comes up repeatedly. It would be much more efficient to have the same domicile if we are to maintain such numbers. What good would the benefits of stress relief do, if we are to become more stressed trying to work out our calendars, eh?"

"Sherlock, what makes you think that I need your help in maintaining a regular sex life?"

"By my observations, you have not indulged in a sexual relationship since 'meat dagger', Molly. You have dated, of course, but have not progressed to the point where you have invited them to bed. Wise decision, by the way, as they…"

"No! I don't want to hear this, you git!"

"Well, your choice in men certainly leaves something to be desired, Dr. Hooper. I myself, am not, perhaps, the best choice, but compared to the others…"

Looking at the man sitting at the table with her, seeing him speak the words so glibly, but not able to meet her eyes Molly was beginning to get an inkling of what was going on here. She decided to go for broke. "Sherlock, you do realize that I love you, right?"

Sherlock Holmes, who had faced robbers, thieves, killers, and demonic hounds, looked almost terrified as he said, "Yes, Molly, I know. So you won't have a problem moving in?"

"On one condition. You're going to have to say it, Sherlock. Just once, then never again, if you don't want to. But at least once. Then, promise me, that if it ever changes, I will be the first to know. Okay?"

"Okay, Molly. And I don't foresee the circumstances ever changing, by the way…"

"Stop stalling, you git, and say it!"

"I love you, Molly." Sherlock said quietly, and he felt as if a huge weight had been lifted from his chest.

Molly smiled as if her heart would burst, but all she could think to say was, "What do we do now?"

"Now? Well, perhaps you should consider taking the rest of the day off, Dr. Hooper. You do seem to have gained a bit of weight, after all, and the sooner we start working that off the better. Don't you agree?"

"That's almost insulting, Sherlock. But I suppose if you are willing to sacrifice all that effort to keep my weight down, the least I can do is to help you fight off prostate cancer!"

"You really are the soul of romance, Dr. Hooper!"

"I learned it all from you, Mr. Holmes!"

Both parties were smiling profusely as they left for an afternoon of intensive...health care and preventive medicine.


End file.
